Year in Palm Beach Read Online Free PDF Page B

with us at two o’clock.
    A little after three o’clock, Benjamin is at our front door. Benjamin, it turns out, is a college student who looks like he just stepped out of
The Preppy Handbook
or perhaps a surfer dude magazine. He does not inspire confidence, but he’s a nice kid and seems sincere, so we go over our typed list of problems. I politely point out that many of them were outlined in an attachment to the lease and supposed to be taken care of before we moved in.
    Benjamin agrees we “should fix some of these things up.” He takes a copy of our list and promises to be back tomorrow morning, before ten. As he’s leaving, he explains, “You can always leave a message, but I’m mostly available on Saturday and Sunday.” A strange bit of information.
    Tuesday, September 8
    Pam and I are on an early morning walk exploring our mostly empty neighborhood. We’re on Peruvian Avenue near the lake when I hear a man yell, “Honey, which car are you taking?”
    After a second or two, a woman says, “I’m not sure; I guess I’ll take the blue one,” and they both start laughing. As we pass the driveway, I see there are two Bentleys parked side by side, exactly the same blue, except one is a coupe and the other’s a convertible. I guess she could have just as easily answered “the Bentley.”
    Two Bentleys. Welcome to Palm Beach.
    Benjamin was supposed to show up this morning before ten, but he didn’t. I call him at noon. I get his machine. I don’t know if people are supposed to be here today, but it seems wise to stick around on the off chance someone actually comes and tries to fix something. The cottage has never been professionally cleaned as outlined in the lease. Pam and I decide to tackle the cleaning ourselves and spend all day going at it.
    About seven thirty, Pam says, “It’s been a long, dirty day. Let’s have a hot shower and a civilized evening.”
    â€œCafé L’Europe?” I say. “That’s one place we haven’t been since we moved.”
    â€œPerfect. I’ll be out of the shower in five,” she says.
    â€œOr maybe ten,” I say, “but we’re not in a rush.”
    I’m getting the birds new food and water when Pam appears in the office wrapped in a towel. “There is no hot water,” she says.
    â€œOh crap. Let me take a look.” Two minutes later, I walk out of the bathroom and say, “There’s no hot water.”
    Pam laughs. “The guest cottage has its own hot water heater. I’ll sneak out there and shower. You can try to call our surfer dude property manager.”
    Benjamin’s machine picks up. Again. I leave a short message and then inspect the water heater. It seems to be gas powered. I don’t do water heaters, but there is a phone number pasted on the side. I call and leave another message. I’m getting quite good at leaving messages.
    Pam’s out of the guest cottage shower (in ten) and I’m into it. Then it is time to escape the cottage and try dinner at Café L’Europe. We haven’t been there in almost a year. The owners Norbert and Lidia have made this place a Palm Beach legend for thirty years. Bruce, the dining room manager, greets us at the door. Bruce has been with this restaurant for almost its entire thirty years. I look at him and think he must have started here around age five.
    We settle into barstools and admire the scene. The wall across from the bar is a shimmering mosaic of shiny bottles, mirrors, carved woodwork, and two huge displays of fresh flowers. David is at the piano.
    After a few minutes, Bruce takes us to a table, and I order a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. This is a tradition we started when we moved out of Manhattan. At the time I, declared, “A big move deserves a bottle of Veuve.” Since then, any big move in our life calls for a bottle of Veuve.
    Rainer is the restaurant’s